


Open mouth, speak

by SmilinStar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Ward x Simmons Ship Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re staring,” she said. “You’re beautiful,” he blurted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open mouth, speak

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Ward/Simmons Ship Week, based on the theme ‘Poor communication skills.’

He was having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her.

From the many smirks Skye had been shooting his way all evening and the occasional ludicrous eyebrow wiggle, he realised he hadn’t been particularly brilliant about not being so damn obvious.

Even Fitz had clued in and sent him his best death glare. The warning apparently crystal clear, “Hurt her and die.”

The only person who remained oblivious was the one person he was trying to impress. He’d only had to become more obvious, because subtlety was something that didn’t appear to compute with her. That and Skye may have given him a proverbial kick in the ass to do something, anything, to end his abject misery.

They’d been invited to Stark Industries Annual Charity Gala after Coulson had managed to finagle invites for the rest of the team out of the superhero himself. Ward had only managed a quick handshake with the billionaire genius before another black suit had pulled the man away to no doubt unashamedly talk shop.

Fitz had turned into a bumbling idiot in front of his idol and Skye had quite helpfully intervened, pulled the engineer away with an “I don’t think you’re ready yet,” and promptly slipped another glass of champagne into his hand.

May had had a smile on her face all evening and had even ventured out on to the dance floor with Coulson and it was like he’d been teleported to some alternate reality because it was just plain weird. Not a bad weird, just weird. In fact, he had thought the smile quite suited her and found himself thinking she should do it more often.

With Skye keeping an eye out for Fitz and protecting him from certain mortifying embarrassment, and Coulson and May spinning around on the dance floor, that had left only one other team member unaccounted for.

He’d been put in many situations on his many solo missions that had required him to be completely unmoved, calm, cool and collected when faced with the unexpected.

However, seeing Jemma Simmons in a dress for the very first time had rendered him an idiot and all his inbuilt training had traitorously abandoned him.

He’d been dumbstruck, and when Skye had grinned up at him from her side and asked with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “So what do you think Agent Ward?” he could barely manage to look back at Simmon’s blushing and expectant face and had mumbled a quick “You both look nice.” He had then turned around and gruffly ordered that they had to leave in five minutes or they’d be beyond their window of being fashionably late.

He completely missed the split second of disappointment that had fallen across her face.

It was about half way through the party when Skye cornered him with a hard slap on the shoulder, “What the hell was that?” she whispered through gritted teeth.

He rubbed absently at the point where she’d hit him, and furrowed his brow, “What are you talking about?”

“What am I …  _you both look nice?!_  Seriously, you could have done better than that!”

“Well you do both look nice!”

“Nice? Yeah okay I might look  _nice_  to you, but Simmons? If she just looks nice then why exactly have you been staring at her all night like you want to devour her and then when anyone even approaches her you look like you’re ready to Hulk out on them.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Well you’re confusing the poor girl! Either you can hardly look at her or you’re just staring at her when you think nobody’s looking with your ridiculously obvious and pitiful pining face! So get your act together, before Captain America swoops in and sweeps her off her feet.”

“What?”

“That’s the second time he’s asked her to dance.”

“What?” He very nearly shattered the crystal flute in his hand with that statement and when he turned around to see that Skye had only been yanking his chain and Steve Rogers was engrossed in conversation with Natasha Romanoff and Simmons was still seated at their table, the relief that overflowed was the final nail in his coffin.

He had it bad. He had it  _real_ bad.

He gulped down the rest of his drink, placed the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and muttered a determined “Fine,” before marching straight over to Simmons much to Skye’s immense pleasure.

He wasn’t sure when it had started. He’d always liked her – she was beyond intelligent, funny, insanely brave, had a bottomless heart and was such a genuinely sweet soul. He’d always been able to talk to her and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, she was always the one who would push his reckless protectiveness into overdrive. Somewhere along the way he’d realised that he depended on her sweet smiles, and days were never complete until he’d had a chance to see her, even if no words were shared and all the interaction they’d had was a glance across the width of a table.

He had stubbornly refused to acknowledge just what was happening until a few weeks ago in Santa Clara, when the team had been double crossed by rogue elements within the Cuban government. Up until that point they had been peaceably working together to take down a small faction of rebels supplying arms to a branch of Centipede.

Simmons had very nearly been shot and it had been the longest minute of his life when he’d lost radio contact with the team and had had no idea of what had happened to her.

It was during those agonisingly drawn out sixty seconds that he realised just what Jemma Simmons had come to mean to him, and it was enough to, with no conscious thought, harden his heart.

He didn’t mean to do it, but he’d been withdrawing from her ever since.

But this night had made it painfully clear that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Is this seat taken?”

She looked up at him, her face shuttered, carefully guarded. “No,” was all she answered with.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Again, all he got was a one word answer, “No.”

He sat down beside her and drew blanks on what to say next. He was fluent in six different languages, and it felt like every single linguistic skill he had had abandoned him. ‘Feelings’ was another language altogether, one he had no training in whatsoever.

He drummed nervously on the table with his fingers.

He heard her sigh beside him and then felt her eyes on his profile.

“Would you like to dance?”

He couldn’t help but be surprised by the question. He was pretty sure he should have been the one asking her, but no there she was, already pushing up and out from her chair with her hand outstretched in expectation.

He took it and let her lead him out on to the floor.

He kept one hand in hers and the other on her waist. The fabric of her dress was soft between his fingers and he unconsciously drew her in closer as they did little but sway to the music being beautifully played by the orchestra.

“You look-”

“Nice. I know, you said.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Right.”

“No I meant,” he sighed and stopped still, “I am really bad at this.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he swore he thought he could see a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Skye had it all wrong. Simmons wasn’t confused at all.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

She smiled a little wider and he felt the air rush out of him in one quick exhale.

He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her face, and just as equally unable to open his mouth and say anything coherent. The moment stretched and he didn’t even realise when they started swaying again to the music.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted.

Biting down on her lip, she shook her head before looking back up at him. Her eyes were bright and her smile unfaltering.

It was as if whatever chains had been holding him back had been broken open and he could maybe finally explain himself.

“I’m sorry about the last couple of weeks.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about and that only made it easier.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not and I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

She let go of his hand and stepped in closer, both hands coming up to lock around the back of his neck, “No you really don’t. I understand.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and stared down at her waiting for her to continue.

“What happened in Santa Clara,” she let the rest of it drift - it really didn’t need explaining, “I guess now you know what it feels like for me.”

He felt his heart stutter in his chest with her unspoken admission.

“Yeah,” he said, one hand reaching up and stroking a thumb across her cheek, “Yeah I guess I do.”

Her eyes fell to his lips then as she spoke, “Now I know how hard you find it expressing yourself and talking about this, but just to be perfectly clear, I would be completely okay with you-”

He kissed her then, and the rest of her words disappeared along with her stolen breath.

She smiled against his lips, “I take it back, you know how to express yourself just fine.”

 


End file.
